


Stage Five

by prototyping



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Post-Game, Seraph!Sorey, new muses are new, this fandom needs more genfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 02:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13940274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: The soul behind those bright eyes is different from the boy Mikleo grew up with and calls brother. He’s a stranger.[Mikleo + seraph!Sorey, post-game.]





	Stage Five

**Author's Note:**

> so I found the skit about how humans can become seraphim but then they’re an entirely new person and I’m kind of really messed up now. this is the quick fic that came out of it, also Bamco can go throw itself off a cliff for continuing to hurt me with this game.

He knows it isn’t Sorey.

The young seraph looks just like him -- talks like him, laughs like him, frowns like him, crosses his arms and shifts his weight just like him. He’s pretty terrible at cooking anything other than basic meals, just like him. He reads a lot, smiles a lot, wears his clothes and sword the same way. He’s cheerful and analytical and sheepish and soft-spoken and good-humored, just like Sorey.

But he’s not.

He has some of Sorey’s memories. He knows Mikleo and Lailah and the rest. He remembers their journey together, and Heldalf, and the sacrifice that Sorey made. He recalls the details of Sorey’s death (young, too young, it feels like Mikleo only had him back for a few days, not a few years), which gave birth to him.

He has Sorey’s face and voice and memory and personality and interests. He _is_ Sorey for all intents and purposes, and yet he isn’t.

The air around him is different, separate. It’s the calm, natural aura of a seraph, not the buzzing and emotional energy of a human. His presence hums with an enormous natural power that Sorey never possessed.

He’s quieter than Sorey, more introspective and contained when excited. He regards Mikleo kindly and warmly, but even that isn’t the same. To this Sorey, Mikleo is a friend, but only a shadow and concept of what a best friend and family are. This Sorey was raised by no one, came from no place.

The soul behind those bright eyes is different from the boy Mikleo grew up with and calls brother. He’s a stranger.

_He_ knows he isn’t the real Sorey, just like Mikleo knows it. And yet he keeps the same name, and Mikleo makes no objections. He leads the same life, more or less, and Mikleo doesn’t dissuade him. It’s not up to him to tell anyone how to live.

He isn’t the real Sorey, but there are times, more often than he wants to admit, when Mikleo manages to forget. They start talking about this or that, a ruin or a legend or some point of interest, and for a minute he’s with _Sorey_ again and everything is alright and as it should be. Then he looks over to see eyes a shade too light, hair too fair that deepens to violet at the tips, and the warmth is sucked out of him so quickly that it physically hurts.

Mikleo doesn’t hate him. The seraph left behind is Sorey’s legacy, much the same way a biological child would be; harboring any animosity would be wrong for a number of reasons. Rejecting him would mean rejecting all that’s left of Sorey in this world.

The only one Mikleo really has a problem with is himself, but he knows better than to smother the grief and frustration and let it fester. He’s guarded Elysia and Camlann for over nine hundred years now. Submitting to malevolence, risking the well-being of his remaining family, is out of the question.

He can’t talk to Sorey (this one _or_ that one) and he doesn’t _want_ to talk to anyone, really, but his friends read him as easily as ever. Edna needles him until he finally speaks his mind and then she listens without interruption, the only time she sits close enough that their elbows brush; Zaveid is rough around the edges but smarter than he looks and drags it out of him eventually; Lailah merely waits, and never for long.

They don’t tell him to change or do anything differently. They already know he’s doing all he can.

* * *

Sorey the lightning seraph is no fool.

Whether a product of his own character or merely a quality inherited from his human self, he’s observant and astute enough that he can read between the lines of Mikleo’s kindness. Despite their casual friendship, there’s a wall between them, a conscious effort to keep Sorey at arm’s length.

He doesn’t think Mikleo is even aware of it, let alone doing it on purpose. There’s never any hesitation when he volunteers to come along on a journey, or when he does the asking. He smirks and teases, criticizes and argues the same way the Mikleo in Sorey’s memory has always done. But there’s something _off_ all the same, something that doesn’t click into place with the Mikleo that the human Sorey knew.

One day Sorey asks Lailah plainly. “Do you think Mikleo has a problem with me? Because of… who I’m not?”

The fire seraph gives him a sad look, but also a small smile as she shakes her head. “Mikleo has a wise and pure heart. I believe he respects and admires you for you. As honest and stubborn as he is, it would be very obvious if he held any negative feelings towards you.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Sorey remarks, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “About the honest and stubborn thing, I mean. Even so, I can’t help thinking there’s something… wrong with him. Or maybe I’m just thinking too much like the human Sorey,” he adds with an awkward smile, rubbing the back of his head. “I guess what he’d think was off is different from what I would think is off.”

“That’s quite possible,” Lailah muses. “As close as the two of them were, you may have trouble separating Sorey’s feelings and memories entirely from your own. It may be that Mikleo strikes you as out-of-character because the way he treats you is different from the way he treated Sorey.”

“I see.”

“All the same…” She smooths out her skirts, which he can’t help but suspect is an excuse to avoid his eyes. “You are not Sorey, strictly speaking, but you’re a part of him. Mikleo is honoring that connection as well as his fellow seraph by taking you in as he has -- but he is still grieving the loss of a dear friend, and such sadness is never without consequences.” She meets his gaze again, her stare firm despite her soft voice. “I don’t believe he is threatened by malevolence. Even so, if you think he’s troubled, I would advise talking to him.”

“I figure I should, but…” He sighs. “That’s kind of a hard subject to approach, you know?”

“I do. But the sooner you two talk about it, the better, I think.”

Sorey studies her uncertainly, weighing her words. “...Did he... already talk to you about this?”

Lailah blinks, looking caught off guard, and then suddenly claps her hands together with a smile much too wide and fake. “What kind of product do you get from pampered cows? _Spoiled_ milk!”

* * *

“Mikleo.”

He’s aware of Sorey’s presence in the few seconds before he speaks, but it’s not until he hears his name that Mikleo turns around. Sorey’s smile is halfhearted, and if the other Sorey’s tics were any indication it means he has something heavy weighing on his mind. “You got a minute?”

Both of their houses are within easy walking distance, but the two seraphim make instead for the peak of Elysia’s hill. Despite the high vantage point, the world below is hidden by thick mist and they’re left with the expansive night sky and surrounding mountaintops for a view. After taking in the familiar sight for nearly a full minute, Mikleo finally speaks.

“So, what’s up?”

Sorey hesitates, but his silence is the only indication of uncertainty. His face is set in something firmly neutral, his gaze locked on the distant skyline. “I know -- I _think_ I know what you’ll say,” he begins slowly, “but I want to say this, anyway.” As he turns to Mikleo, something in his solid stare softens around the edges. “...I’m sorry.”

Mikleo starts, his expression briefly, openly taken aback before he catches it and frowns. “Sorey--”

“Hear me out,” he implores. “I’m not -- apologizing for existing. Or for being your friend. But I _am_ sorry if I haven’t been sensitive to how you’re feeling.”

It’s Mikleo, now, who fixes his stare on the horizon. “It’s fine.”

“No.” Sorey’s tone is firm, although not unkind. “I think… I’ve taken a lot of this for granted. I just -- picked up where Sorey left off. That was enough for me, but I didn’t really think about how it would affect you and the other seraphim.”

Sparing him a glance, Mikleo can’t hide a shade of skepticism. “Well, what else could you have done? You _are_ you, but you _were_ Sorey. There’s nothing wrong or unusual with carrying on what he started.”

“But…”

“I still don’t know much about what it means to be reborn,” says Mikleo more quietly. “I was too young when I went through it to pretend I remember anything.” Even speaking with the guardian seraphim at the trial shrines turned up almost nothing helpful. They’re old, far older than Mikleo, and their human lives were just a page in an enormous tome of memories and experiences. Logically speaking, expecting someone to remember that far back is unrealistic at best. “I admit,” he goes on solemnly, “I did think it was unfair at first. Cruel, even, for a person to live on only in the resemblance of another. But after watching you, and seeing both the similarities and differences between you and Sorey… I don’t think that way anymore.”

“You don’t?”

“Sorey was human.” Mikleo crosses his arms, his fingers unconsciously tight where they rest on his biceps. “I never really thought about it when we were kids, but I was always fated to outlive him. His long sleep as Maotelus’ vessel only delayed that fact.” In contrast, Zenrus must have always been aware, and yet… he always smiled, always loved Sorey as his own, fleeting though he knew human lives to be. Mikleo sighs lightly, almost inaudibly. “Still, I was lucky to have that much, in a way.”

“Mikleo… I’m--”

“I won’t deny that I’m unhappy with how his story ended.” Mikleo doesn’t try to mask his grim tone. “And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of him every time I see you. But… I’ve decided that’s okay. Or rather, that I need to be okay with it.” He drops his arms, turning to face Sorey fully. “I’ve lived a long time. Some of the memories I swore I’d never forget are blurry now. I’m sure I’ve lost a few without realizing. But having you around makes some of them clear again. Heh…” His small smile is bitter, apologetic. “It’s pretty terrible of me, I know. But even if I know that you’re not Sorey, it’s like… you’re helping to keep him alive, somehow. In my memory, which is the only place he can be now.”

Sorey gives a low, sad hum. “Maybe… that’s what rebirth is supposed to do. No power can truly reverse mortality. But transcendence... could be seen as the world’s best attempt at it.”

Mikleo’s next exhale is a sharp but quiet one, both amused and somber. That’s exactly the kind of conclusion Sorey would come up with. “A method of comforting those left behind, huh.” A crude, basic method, but a method all the same. Then again, that sums up much of the ways of the world.

He looks down at his gloved hand, forming a loose fist. “I didn’t know how to feel about that at first. Honestly... I still don’t.” Maybe it’s cruel to this Sorey, constantly comparing him to the other, or unfair to the human Sorey to frame his memory around a different person. Even if it is, there’s nothing Mikleo can do about it at this point. He’s tried. But if he’s progressed this far, maybe there’s hope for him still. “But there are two things that I _do_ know for sure now: you’re not Sorey… and I don’t hold that against you.”

Sorey blinks, although it’s hard to tell whether he’s more surprised by Mikleo’s words or the sudden smile that the older seraph gives him. “You have nothing to apologize for, Sorey. I don’t see you as a replacement, or an intrusion -- I’m sure the rest of the seraphim feel the same way.” He glances back down the hill at the sleepy village, empty and dark. “But you shouldn’t get too hung up over what we think. You’re you. You’re alive. If that’s enough for you to keep going... then that’s enough for me to stand by you.” His smile is a warm, honest one now. This might not be Sorey, but confiding in him like this, as he would have done with the original, takes much of that dead weight off his chest. For the first time in a while, he feels like he can breathe without it hurting. “Whatever you choose to do with what he left you is your decision. And we’ll support you the whole way.”

For a long moment Sorey only stares at him, his expression locked in stunned disbelief. It’s enough to make Mikleo’s smile edge into a smirk as he skeptically plants his fist on his hip. “Well, you’ve definitely got that dumbfounded look of his down.”

Slowly, Sorey breaks into a shaky smile. The way his eyes thin and his eyebrows pinch and he breathes out a quiet, relieved laugh -- it’s all so _Sorey_ and it stings like it always does and probably always will. But in the echo of that pain is something better, something glad and proud and protective, and that’s the feeling Mikleo holds onto as he watches his friend with his brother’s face struggling not to get too emotional on him.

“I guess you’d know, huh.” Sorey’s attempt at a joke falls a little flat.

“Your comeback game’s weaker, though.” Still smirking, Mikleo holds out his arm. For a moment he’s not sure how to interpret Sorey’s pause, and begins to wonder if this memory isn’t one he retained -- but then in a blink Sorey matches his movement and taps his wrist to his with a fierce, challenging grin.

“I’ve got a long time to work on it, old man.”

Try as he might, Mikleo can’t hide a flicker of annoyance. That better not become his new running joke. “Says the one who was practically born yesterday.”

“I guess a few months _would_ only feel like a day to someone as old as you, huh?”

_“Watch it.”_ Mikleo’s playful swat is dodged and countered with a punch to his shoulder, but he’s smiling.

This time, the familiarity doesn’t ache.


End file.
